


And I'll only need to hold you (go back to sleep and dream)

by TheBlackWook



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Depression, Developing Friendships, Explicit Sexual Content, Football Challenge Prompts, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know if I should tag Rino as Gennaro or directly as Rino, M/M, Mild Language, References to Depression, Shameless Use of Pirlo's book, Slow Burn, linear narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackWook/pseuds/TheBlackWook
Summary: Gigi meets Rino and there is nothing he can do to stop his fire from burning him...





	1. #1 First Impression

Playing football in different clubs and with a different progression, they’ve had many firsts impressions, whether it be with the Azzurini, in Serie A or in the Primavera championship. As a teenager with professional prospect – or one already established in Gigi’s case – you don’t particularly pay attention to your opponent. There are rumours of course, a chaos of whispers amongst the young men, of a particular player, a wonder for his club and a nightmare for the others. Gigi had been one of them, to a small proportion – being a goalkeeper was always an ingrate position and it still was -, even though he had never really given credit to these words uttered in hushed tones between some of his adversaries of the day. No, these sort of compliments were better reserved for the expressionless genius midfielder of Brescia, for example – a true threat, that one, don’t fall for his mask of nonchalance, it really isn’t it. 

There had been a clamour of murmurs too, for one midfielder of Perugia. A mad dog, some said. Gigi never really paid attention, especially because the times when their teams had clashed, he had touched his dream with his gloved fingers, making his professional debut for Parma, with a shirt too big for his frame and a face barely out of boyhood. These couples of month with the first team, filling in the spot with remarkable calm and skills – the holy bells were already ringing according to some -, had cut him from the latest dressing-room talks, typical of the Primavera team, where dreams and ambitions were either rewarded or shattered in one final cruel blow. 

The first impression of Gennaro Gattuso that Gigi vividly remembers happens months later, during the final of the youth championship for one Perugia versus Parma. He finally sees the mad dog his teammates had told him about – sometimes in too big an extent, forgetting they had their own reckoning strength. 

He doesn’t look much at first : a short boy, short black hair with one strand fashionably grazing his forehead, the ghost of facial hair above his lips. 

He’s barely a man, even more so when compared to Gigi’s long frame. Still a boy, trying to look older in every possible way at his disposal. But when he turns and their gazes meet, there is something that leave Gigi immobile for an instant. There is something in his eyes, a burning fire, a fighting rage, as if he was surrounded by an aura. 

Gigi begins to understand what his teammates meant when they talked about that mad midfielder from Perugia. 

He completely understands when he leaves his defence behind, breathless and desperate to catch up with him; when he tricks Gigi as you would a rookie and scores the first goal of the game. 

The determination and the fighting spirit escaping him in his cry while he runs towards the stands is what Gigi will remember for days – and years – on end. The fire of an eighteen year old boy burning out from his entire being, leaving the goalkeeper burnt to his core.


	2. #2 Getting to know each other

Going to Milan always means a reunion with Andrea – that expressionless midfielder from Brescia made it big in the end, and nobody ever doubted it. Gigi is not here for a game, nor on any football business; trainings won’t start before another week. It is a planned day trip with his older sisters and, while he loves them dearly, he conveniently called Andrea to schedule a lunch together and escape the constant teasing that goes with being the youngest child. 

They have a lot to talk about, anyway. Gigi knows Inter is not really the dream Andrea had thought it would be when he first signed. He heard rumours and, as a good friend, he must go see and support his little shithead friend of his. 

He’s brought a friend along. Gattuso. The mad dog from Perugia. Gigi still remembers that Primavera final. They may have played against each other last season while he wore the garnet-coloured tunic of Salernitana, but Gigi barely remembers he was there. He stops when he sees the two of them, bickering – they knew each other that well ? -, before he snaps out of it and comes and greets them. After the casual pleasantries, they dive right into the core of the subject.

Andrea is getting loaned. Loaned to Reggiana, on the other side of Italy no less. He is enjoying his last few days in Milan before he has to leave.

Silence falls and, for a minute, Gigi feels guilty. He’s made a name for himself in Parma, he just won a European cup a month ago and he has become _Superman_ for the fans – and that’s not even brushing the fact he is now a regular with the national team when Andrea has yet to make his debut, his promising future of only a year ago already sounding like an old dream of the past. 

It’s Gattuso who talks first and, true to the impressions Gigi had had of him when his gaze had literally frozen him in place three years ago, he curses Inter – you wouldn’t expect otherwise of a newly fresh milanista, though, would you ? - and simply say he will make them regret the decision by _“kicking asses”_ with the southern team. Andrea teases him on his language mistakes but Gigi can see it in his eyes he appreciate the aggressive show of support. 

He realizes it is actually the first time he has heard Gattuso’s voice – no, a shout after scoring a goal does not count. It is very low and raspy, the one you would expect coming from an old Tuscan miner, lighting yet another cigarette inside the main street’s bar, not from a short twenty one year old. Gigi finally registers Andrea’s comment on Gattuso’s language. He hadn’t really noticed. He has never been one to judge, he hasn’t finished high school himself. He notices now the indignation which had flashed in the midfielder’s eyes at Pirlo’s comment. It had gone as soon as it had appeared but it had been there, lingering for a second before he tried to break the neck of his unimpressed friend. 

It tells a lot to Gigi, already. 

When Andrea excuses himself upon realising he stained his shirt with an appetizer, the short young man turns to Gigi, curious as to how he got to know Andrea.

“We played games with our youth teams and that shithead got invited way to often with the older national youth teams.” 

The other young man erupts in a laughter, deep and rich, genuine.

_(Gigi decides he quite likes the sound it makes.)_

He wants to know how Andrea came to know his past executioner, how he brought the devil right out of his otherwise composed nature whenever they are together. 

_(Gigi knows, and that’s because Andrea is the biggest little shit he has ever met.)_

Gattuso answers him without waiting for the question, it flows naturally right through him.

“That he is. He is the biggest pain in the ass I have met.” His smiles falls down for the briefest of time. “He’s always annoying me with the way I talk.” He stares off, with an almost self-depreciating smile and Gigi feels the sudden urge to tell him his speech is as good as any other, the urge to smack Andrea’s head. “But, he’s a true friend. It’s way too fun sharing a room with the Azzurini with that one.” The good natured smirk is back on his face, any sign of his previous confession gone, as if nothing had happened.

“Plotting against me ?” Andrea is back from the bathroom, shirt as clean as ever, if not a bit torn.

“Haven’t you heard ? We’re always plotting against you.” Gigi jokes and all three of them laugh loudly, disturbing the quiet lull of conversations in the restaurant. 

Andrea’s sullen football reality is soon forgotten and easy conversation and banter quickly settles between the three of them. Gattuso is uncompromising and almost brutally honest, as you would expect from the warrior he is on the pitch. But Gigi pays attention and sees the way his voice slows down ever so slightly when he is not sure of a word or a verb, glancing almost anxiously at Andrea, he sees the light lines around his eyes when he smiles and there is an inherent softness lying underneath it all, an endearing side to that young man who may talk too loud way too often but never with bad intentions, simply caught up in the moment. 

When Gigi has to go meet his sisters again, they exchange numbers – if only to complain about Andrea, they joke. But their eyes tell another story, a childlike glimmer at the idea they may have found an amicable acquaintance, maybe even a friend, in each other.


	3. #3 International Breaks

It had not been been long before Rino – for he had quickly become Rino, just like any other who knew him, even remotely, called him – caught up with Gigi and made his debut with the national team, playing a whole second half against Sweden. Yet, he had had to wait months to get called up again, missing the European Championship and its cruel epilogue for his new teammates. Instead, he flew all the way to Slovakia with Andrea for the Under 21 edition of the tournament and atoned for the senior’s bitter end with a clear final win, secured by none other than the former mastermind of Brescia.

When they lifted the trophy, they lifted it for them too. They lifted for their friends who had lived through the crucifying come back of the French.

After that, Rino became a regular, making himself a place in the team – he complained a lot to find himself neighbour, once again, of Pippo, whose activities left few doubts to the group, when one Bobo Vieri was there too. Usually, he would crawl with his blanket, clad in patterned pyjamas, into Gigi’s room and whoever was there, depending on the lists of players, and stayed with them, waiting for the obscene storm to clear out on the other side of his wall. They would talk, play cards sometimes – Rino was such a sore loser, Gigi discovered – almost always in peacefulness, a welcomed break for Rino, it seemed to the goalkeeper. 

He had seen, he had heard : all the teasing. Rino made the perfect victim for whoever wanted an easy laugh : an easy target for his accent and his mistakes, an impressive ability to come from pleasantry into murder in a matter of a second, insults and hits flowing freely. And it’s true, it was funny to some extent, but Gigi could never help thinking about how Rino might feel about these constant reminders of his lack of education, mockery for simply being who he was. 

Gigi soon decided to stay close whenever it happenned and to casually throw an arm around his strong shoulders, to offer him a soft show of support and affection. 

They never mentioned it. They didn’t really have to. The simple fact that Rino kept coming back to Gigi’s room to find some peace and quiet, and the growing comradeship they showcased on the field was proof enough for them. 

Playing for Italy had always been special to them. In more ways than one.


	4. #4 Losing in a final match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah enjoy that 4/5 times longer chapter.

Gigi was young, he’d play plenty of other Champions League finals, he kept telling himself. Nothing would ever go wrong, right ? Next year they’d be there, and the year after that, and the year after that. Nothing and no one would stop him. It would all be alright, in the end. 

That’s all he had left. Fragile hopes. 

That’s all he had left to avoid going insane. 

He had not been able to sleep that night. All he could see was the penalty kicks he had not been able to save. All he could see was Andrea and Rino, Pippo and Paolo and Sandro. His friends, his executioners. He wanted to be happy for them, maybe he would in the future, but it never outweighed his disappointment, the mistakes that kept haunting him, and it pained him even more not to be able to offer more than a single hasty _“congratulations”_ when he passed by them. He barely remembered it all. He barely slept the following night, and the night after that. 

It was all his fault. He had failed them all; teammates, coach, staff, president, fans. He had not been good enough, he even wondered if he really deserved to be there, when the night was at its darkest and deepest and he had nothing left to do than to think. Come morning and he would keep telling himself he simply needed time, Alex had said so, in all his captain wisdom; that was maybe one of the hardest blow he had lived so far, it left scars, and he simply had to wait for the feeling to fade away.

He never got a chance to do so. 

Barely a week later and he had to be in Coverciano for national team duty. It almost helped that Andrea and Rino were not there. He sickened himself just for having the thought. When Trapattoni told him he would make him rest for the friendly game against Northern Ireland, explaining he needed him more for the Euro qualifier match against Finland, Gigi took it as a relief. Maybe the coach knew, probably. In any case, he would not be the one to complain. These days, he even questioned his place within the national team. 

The only thing he hated, though, was the pity he was offered, written all over his teammates’ face – Alex was the only one to understand and went on as usual, he had his own doubts to overcome, anyway –, murmured by kind words of support, maybe a hand on his arm or an arm around his shoulders. He hated it, he hated it all and he hated himself even more to be so ungrateful to people, to friends, who were just trying to help. But somehow, it never was it. All he wanted to do was to forget and people constantly reminding him, however good their intentions were, were just making things worse. He just wanted everything to stop. 

It never did. He thought of quitting himself in the months that had followed. 

He had put on a mask soon enough, pretending all was fine, two weeks after, to avoid anyone being sorry for him. But nothing was fine. That final only was but an excuse, now. It may have started his current predicament, but he had long gotten over it – he was young and he had time, remember ?

No, his ill ran far more deeply and had invaded his very core without him putting much of a fight, vulnerable to the vilest descriptions his mind had come up with in his most ragged hours. He barely did anything all through summer, no will whatsoever to get up or do anything. But he had to pretend, keep the fake smile he was still perfecting on his face, be ready for the incoming season. 

In the end, he had run off to his apartment in Turin way earlier than he did the previous year, pretexting he needed to train already, needed to get stronger. It was only a half-lie : on the good days, he trained himself to exhaustion, kept his mind as busy as he could. Maybe, he thought, if he didn’t think at all, he could stop being like this, he could stop seeing his every failure, how despising he was. 

Andrea had called once. He had not answered. He had called twice. He had answered and he had spent the most awkward two minutes of his life, with his friend not really knowing what to do or say but trying to show he cared about him and Gigi, mask put right back on, assuring him he was fine. He had even added that he would kick his ass in the next final. 

_As if_ , he bitterly thought when he had hung up.

He didn’t see Rino until just after the season had started, when they all gathered up for the game against Wales in Milan. Somehow, he found it harder to pretend when he was there. He always was just so direct that it didn’t feel right to lie to him. It didn’t help the fact he still felt like a fraud. As a result, he tried to avoid him as much as possible. It was easier being a coward, though that only added to the long list of negative names he was giving himself these days. 

Rino didn’t comment on his behaviour, didn’t try to force a conversation and Gigi really was not sure if it was better or worse. It seemed that, whatever he was doing, nothing would have a positive issue.

They kept dancing around like that. Milan that year, had not meant a reunion with Andrea – or Rino, for that matter. They caught each other up in the tunnel before the game, but it neither had been the time nor place to have a heart to heart conversation. Gigi was not even sure he would have said anything; maybe he would have brushed it off, lying once again to his friends’ face. 

It went on up until the end of March, when they gathered again for the game against Portugal, in Braga. This time, Andrea was there too. He saw them watching him on the training pitch, keeping an eye on him; he noticed how they never were far from him at lunch and dinner, how they made sure at least one of them was in the near vicinity, wherever he went. It was all too much, it was all too hard. 

That night, he had left Christian in their room – orphaned with Pippo’s absence, the striker was sharing the room with Gigi. The keeper liked it, Bobo never asked any questions. He might had his suspicions but he never said anything. Instead, he was all jokes, good times and clownery – and he went down to the fitness facility of where they were staying at, no one would ever thought to come find him here. 

He trained at first, falling into an unhealthy need to exhaust himself, as he had done so many times in the last months, almost a year. But soon, images of Andrea and Rino kept flooding his mind, images of his failure as a player, against them, and images of his failure as their friend. His breath became ragged, not from the exercise but rather from the overflow of emotions he had bottled up for way too long. 

He was tired, tired of pretending, of wearing a mask when nothing seemed bright anymore in his life. He felt the salty tears brush his lips before he realized he had began to cry. He put the barbell back in its place, before it threatened to fall from his soon trembling hands, and he sat on the bench, completely consumed by uncontrollable sobs.

Failure, fraud, failure, fraud, failure, fraud… His mind did not leave him any rest. 

He jerked up when he heard the door open and close and he quickly dried his tears on his shirt, trying to put the mask back on. He considered fleeing or hiding, but he did not have the strength. He would simply say he couldn’t sleep and was eager for tomorrow’s match, add one or two casual pleasantry and convince whoever that was to leave him, that he would soon go to sleep. Easy. He had mastered these kind of meaningless reasons. The footsteps grew closer, in the darkness of the room, only lit by the light moon outside, and Gigi took a couple of deep breaths to try and bring his breathing back to normal. He could do it. 

Rino came to face him. Gigi’s eyes went wide and threatened to water again.

Inspire.

“I’ve been looking for you for over an hour. Bobo told me I might find you here.”

Exhale. 

Gigi’s face went down and studied the hard material of the bench. 

Inspire.

“You shouldn’t do that exercise alone, you could get hurt.”

Exhale

“I’m fine, Rino.” His voice couldn’t get above a murmur.

Inspire.

“Cut the crap. Not to me. Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing right now and that you’ve been doing for months. I might be stupid but I have eyes.”

Stop. Explode.

Gigi could not contain the sniffling coming back, he felt it wouldn’t be long before his eyes would become a pool again. Could Rino really understand ? He was not sure – hell, anybody would tell him he was the last person he should talk to about such problems – but he was tired of pretending, tired of lying to his friend.  


He told him everything. What he could explain, at least – most days, he barely knew why he felt so empty. The doubts that slowly knocked on his door, the anxiety that kept whispering to his ear, the growing hatred and disgust he had for himself that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t even finish, the sobs making his whole body convulse and his voice choke. 

He was pathetic, he thought. Rino must hate him.

Yet, he felt the weight on the bench shift and a strong pair of arm encircling him, forcefully pulling him against a chest just as strong. One of Rino’s hand threaded through Gigi’s black curls and Gigi felt it clutch at them, with all the strength he had. He had cried in his solitude – he had done this a lot ever since last May – but never had the tears flowed so quickly on his cheeks. 

He felt they stayed like this forever. It was ironic how, all of sudden, his friend was the one to hold him, to protect him when Gigi had been the one swearing to defend him from mockery.

He shuddered when he felt Rino’s hands move to cup his face. He was so close he could feel his breath on his lips, see the details of his beard and moustache, feel the soft press of his forehead against his. There was an undying moment, as if suspended in time, when Gigi wondered if his friend was going to kiss him – his face had looked so raw and he had not missed his tongue softly wetting his mouth. The shorter man seemed to hesitate for a moment; what for, Gigi wasn’t sure. 

“I don’t know what you’re going through, I can’t pretend. And I can’t help as you need to. And I hate it, it fucking sucks. But I’m here. And you, Gigi Buffon, are the strongest goalkeeper and the kindest man I have ever seen in my life.” The aura Gigi had felt all those years ago, when he had first saw him, was back, he could feel it. Rino’s hands were pressing intensely into the taller man’s cheeks, as if he would never let go. 

He could not keep his eyes off of Rino’s. In the moonlight, his dark irises shone surprisingly, full of an almost scary determination. 

“Whatever you have, it won’t pass in the flick of a hand, it seems. But I got your back. So does Andrea. So you will make me the pleasure of holding your head up high because you have nothing to be ashamed of. You have every right to be here. And tomorrow, you will disgust the Portuguese until they won’t even want to try shooting.”

It was almost painful the way he was holding his face, his voice confident and his entire being surrounded by that familiar burning rage. He let himself be burnt willingly. He left him then, gone without Gigi being able to utter a single word.

It was moments later that he realized the soft wetness on his forehead was not the result of tears but that of a soft press of lips. 

 

(The following night, when he conceded a goal after only five minutes, Rino and Andrea looked at him and nodded to him. It happened to everyone, it was not his fault but the whole team’s. For the first time in almost a year, Gigi felt less alone.)


	5. #5 Showers

There was nothing as more reinvigorating as a shower.

Gigi had always liked feeling the thin droplets of water down his body, letting them wash his skin and the streams of his mind. He usually hogged his spot in the showers for far longer than any of his teammates so that, it had been decided he would be amongst the last to go shower himself, thus avoiding to slow anyone down by having one spot less. 

He didn’t mind. Alex usually waited, and with him, Ciro. And David, and Pavel too. Sometimes there were all of them, sometimes two or three, and sometimes, this was just the captain and Gigi. Ever since he had began seeing a therapist and came public with his struggles – shortly after his heart to heart with Rino, in fact -, his teammates had been nothing but supportive and made sure to stay with him a little longer, offer a smile a little wider and hug him a little tighter. With time, the feeling of hatred towards kind acts had slowly faded away and he appreciated his friends’ efforts and took comfort in it. Just before the EURO, he had made significant progress. The cruel group exit of Italy had made people – Rino first – fear for a relapse. 

On the plane home, Rino had not left Gigi’s side, not even for a minute. They woke up with their head one under the other, their hands intertwined – they must had found each other during the night and their exhausted sleep. Gigi’s cheeks had reddened; Rino had not said a word, he was not one to blush. He, however, sent a glare so deadly towards Andrea that it was enough to cut him, mouth open, before he had any chance to give his unwanted two cents on the matter. 

Rino had spent the following day and night with Gigi.

After he had confided in him, Gigi had seen him come, once or twice a month, making sure he was okay. Sometimes, the keeper suspected he even was behind the impromptu visits of some of his friends, be it Gianluca, Alessio, Fabrizio or Lilian. 

He spent the night more often than not. 

Now, there was always a folded blanket on top of the couch waiting just for Rino to come and wrap himself in it. A couple of times, Gigi had woken him up and asked if he could come sleep with him. Rino never ever refused. It was Gigi, not any of the shitheads on his teams forcing him out of sleep for a prank.

They did not even lay in each other’s arms – at least not when they went back to sleep. The presence was enough, was the most important part of the gesture.  


As time went on, Gigi surprised himself more and more by wondering what Rino was doing or if he would laugh at a joke he had heard. He occupied his thoughts with an unexpected force and the goalkeeper was left pondering over his growing feelings for his friend and what to do about them.

As luck would have it, a call-up for Italy settled the matter once and for all.

The tough training of Marcello Lippi had apparently not satiated Rino who stayed behind _“just a little longer”_ , he had assured everyone. Gigi had thought to wait for him in the dressing room – he had plenty of time before he could go take a shower, anyway – but one after the other, his teammates left and Gigi thought his… What was even Rino to him, these days ? - had left already without bothering to pass by here. 

He entered the empty shower room and closed his eyes when the hot water enveloped his body and treated his sore muscles. A mist soon formed around him and hid him, so that he began to forget where he was and what he was here for. It was one of the coping mechanism his therapist had given him – he had always refused taking any pills. It was not taking a shower per se, but rather take time for himself in what was a quiet and relaxing environment to him and imagine a peaceful atmosphere, focusing on his breathing. 

He must had stayed there a long time, as per usual, because he jumped when he heard the door of the shower room open. His fingertips were all creased, now, and his skin had reddened from the temperature, he noticed. 

The footsteps stopped and Gigi turned to see none other than Rino Gattuso, in all his naked glory, except for flip-flops gracing his feet. The goalkeeper’s breath itched and he froze into place, very much so like almost nine years ago.

“How long have you been hogging that shower ?” Rino mused, clearly unaffected and unashamed by the situation. “Far too long as always, I’m sure.”

Gigi chuckled. This was just so… Rino, it was absurd. Here they were, two friends who were probably far more than that but had never dared look too much into it, alone and naked in the showers – the nakedness wasn’t what Gigi focused on, he had never shied away from it in the dressing rooms and the showers, it was part of football and he had seen way too many bodies by now to even bat an eye when he saw one. 

But it was Rino. It was different. 

Of course it was.

He offered Gigi a smirk before he threw his flip-flops out of feet. “Move, I’d better make the most of that hot water before there isn’t any left.”

The taller man was too stunned to even object and made room for his friend in the cramped space without really realising he even did. 

Rino went on as if nothing was out of the ordinary, splashing water on his face and letting himself be soaked. Gigi found himself unable to look away from him, with his body so close to his and his elbows or forearms brushing against his sides. 

He suddenly realised that Rino’s presence here was merely the result of their growing proximity ever since he had cried in his arms in Braga. Obviously, not all his proximity with his friends ended up with sharing a shower booth – that was Rino for you – but, nevertheless, their link had deepened within the last year. He had always been there at Gigi’s side, went out of his way to look after him. 

And that meant _something_.

“Thank you, Rino.” Gigi blurted out without really thinking what to say afterwards

The shorter man looked up at him with an incredulous look. “What for ?”

“Everything. Being there for me, you know.” He added.

The showers seemed awfully quiet even though water was still pouring down on them. They held their gaze, and here they were, Rino’s hands cupping Gigi’s wet cheeks yet again. But unlike during their heart to heart, the touch was so soft, feather-like, as if Rino was afraid he would break him and so very much what no one, and certainly not Gigi, would have expected. 

He pulled Gigi’s face down until their nose brushed and he stopped. 

The moment seemed to stretch on forever, as if they were both debating or too afraid to take the next step. 

“Gigi, I...” Rino began, his voice even lower than usual.

“ _Gennaro_...” 

His full name escaped his mouth like a desperate whispered prayer, a long-awaited wish.

That’s all it took for the midfielder to close the gap between them and finally capture his lips in a kiss. It was soft and slow, not like anything Gigi had thought it would – yes, he had thought about it and could not have thought of something else than Rino being his uncompromising self even in carnal desires – almost too chaste for the man he was or, at least, the one everyone thought to know. 

As neither of them seemed inclined to stop, they grew bolder : tongues mixing, tasting the vague perfume of the apple they had had with their breakfast; lips bitten answered with a barely stifled moan; a hand settling on each other’s neck, grasping at the wet black curls clinging to their skin; the other travelling around their back or their chest. 

They both gasped for air when they broke the kiss – their first kiss. 

There was no sound but that of their uneven breathing and the water splashing. Nothing and no one - not even Andrea is he had barged in suddenly - could have broken the moment. They were here, in the showers, naked and that barely even crossed their mind at that moment. They were just two men, two friends sharing a moment of truth.

“Fucking hell, Gigi...” Rino muttered until he kissed Gigi again, heavier this time.

The steam enveloped them until their bodies blurred and only their joined faces were visible, pain from training long forgotten.

As Gigi had said, there was nothing as more reinvigorating as a shower.


	6. #6 Winning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long ! I was blocked by whether or not include a detailed smut scene here and it is a first experience for me here, so please bear with and sorry in advance if it's horrendous ! I've tried my best and can only progress from here ! Please note the rating has gone up, obviously. I hesitated between M and E but settled on E just to be sure. That's probably something I'll pick up if I write more. Anyway. I hope the results won't be too bad. _*glides into hiding spot*_

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

They all suck in a breath.

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

They all look at Fabio placing the ball down on the painted white grass and taking a few steps backwards, looking Barthez right in the eyes.

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

Gigi looks at him. He looks at all the boys gathered in the centre of the pitch and on the sidelines – they are only blue dots, some with more hair than others -, and he  
spots Rino. He always manages to spot him. Somehow, his beating heart calms down for a second.

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

Suddenly, seventy five thousand and five hundred fifty people are awfully quiet, one half ready to curse, the other to celebrate at any minute, now. The silence is deafening.

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

The sound of a kicked ball. The rush of adrenaline that ensues.

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._

The ball seems to move in slow motion, it cannot end its course soon enough. Everyone’s gaze is fixed on that round and white leather ball. 

_Thump thump, Thump thump..._  
Thump thump, Thump thump...  
Thump thump… 

 

IT’S IN !

What happens afterwards is all a blur. They all run foolishly on the pitch, hugging each other tight – or slapping the _Mister_ if you’re Rino – and screaming out their joy. They will have time in the days, months and even years to come to rewatch videos and documentaries of their victory, they will have time to realise just how happy their faces were and how crazy they acted, the sweet conclusion of the game setting them free of any restraint. They will remember they could have gotten injured in the midst of their celebration, leaving all carefulness behind; they will remember they were, if only for a night, the same little kids they all had been when they had first touched a ball and vowed to win the world cup.

They will laugh about it; they will get chills. 

They will have time for all of this, but what matters now is Rino capturing Gigi’s lips in a heavy kiss, far away from the drunken celebrations of their friends – they, too, are slightly drunk, more tipsy than anything, and the fact they managed to get away without anyone stopping them is a real miracle -, in someone’s room. Too bad for whoever left it open, it is now theirs.

Their mouths meet in a loud concert, their gasps for air makes for well needed pauses, until they go back, adding moans from tongues meeting each other to the track. Somewhere, from afar, there is the blasting music of a club where fans probably are celebrating.

They don’t hear it. There is only them. 

The fact they managed to keep their white shirt on from the time they silently eclipsed themselves from the party is still a wonder in itself – Gigi had lost count of all  
the clothes he had had to repair or replace after sex with Rino. 

Perhaps, the gold medals hanging around their neck make him more careful, if only a little. 

“Maybe we could go to your room or mine...” Gigi breathes out – rather moans – when Rino pushes him against a wall and attack his neck, sucking and biting parcels of flesh when he’s not kissing them. 

“We have a room. Here.” Rino hisses when his fingers fumbles and can’t seem to be able to unbutton Gigi’s shirt. 

Gigi tries to protest again, thoughtful of the unfortunate teammate, but his attempt is cut off by Rino capturing his lips once again, biting hard. Right. There are more urgent matters and, for fuck’s sake, they’ve just won the world cup, they can do anything they want. 

Gigi takes more control and holds Rino by the neck to bring him back to his lips in a heavy kiss, his tongue teasing Rino’s teeth. He tastes of champagne and cheep beer and it’s intoxicating. 

He finishes to unbutton his shirt and takes care of Rino’s, throwing the garment over his own on the floor. His hands roams over the burning skin of his broad chest, enticing a moan or two by moving his kisses to Rino’s earlobe. 

The rest of their clothes soon follow the forgotten shirts and they crawl to the bed, left in their underwear and their medals around their necks. Their hands voyage slowly on their own accord over their almost naked body while they keep kissing until they are out of air.

Rino strengthens his hold on Gigi’s body and reverse their positions swiftly, straddling his hips. They can’t contain the faint groan that escapes their throats when their erections rub against one another through the fabric of their briefs. 

The midfielder goes from Gigi’s lips to his jaw to end up back on his throat, biting the spots he had left red from only minutes ago. Then, he slowly caresses his chest and his hands go lower and lower until he palms him. Gigi thinks he thrives on hearing him make noise, he can’t exactly be sure but he swears he can feel the bastard smirk on his skin. 

“Rino, come on...” He whines impatiently

“Nothing but the utmost care for _my_ world champion.” He ends in a low chuckle before going down to kiss his chest.

Gigi wants to argue that it’s not precisely what he wants – _needs_ , really – right now but how can he when Rino is being just fucking charming like that ? He bites his retort on his lips, almost making it bleed. 

Finally – _finally_ – the kisses are now on his stomach, then his hips and the shorter man plays with the armband of his briefs and Gigi sucks in a breath. His body is burning – only the cold metal of the medal leaves a fresh spot on his flesh – and there is only one place he needs to be attended to; Rino really cannot take care of it soon enough. 

The devil is making him gasp by making his way up his inner thigh, biting – marking – and then kissing the skin softly. Rino palms him again through the fabric of his underwear. He squeezes a few times, much to Gigi’s uneven breathing, and even mouths his erection.

“Rino, for the love of God, please...”

He feels him grin like a cat but he complies nonetheless, pulling his briefs off and taking him into his mouth without ceremony.

“Fuck...” Gigi is left at a loss for words under Rino’s ministrations.

He’s left voiceless for a moment, his mouth dry. Rino has always a way to leave him just like that and he has lost count of about how many different occasions it occurred. He runs his hand gently in his black hair, torn between his aching desire to have him go lower and afraid to hurt him if he does so. 

“Must you really cut your hair ?” Gigi complains instead.

Rino merely chuckles and the vibration makes him gasps.

“I’m already missing your long mane.” He almost chokes on his words as his lover quicken his pace.

He feels himself getting close but before he can find any kind of sweet liberation, Rino releases him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“A bet is a bet, _Gigione_.” He smiles, his face just above Gigi’s, and kisses him, just a brush of lips.

They look at each other for a long – suspended – moment and Gigi cups his face to bring their mouths back together, sealed. 

He is the one taking over now, pushes the shorter man softly on his back and traces his hands on his body, shaping every muscle, every marks or scars – he had a few. Soon enough, he pulls down his boxers and throw them across the room, taking Rino’s hard member into his hand, going up and down at an agonizing pace, spreading the few drops of precum down his length. 

He has him squirming in an instant. 

“For fuck’s sake, Gigi...” 

“Yes ?” He purrs against his skin, worshipping his upper body with kisses, not changing the pace of his hand in the least. 

“Just fuck me already !” He hisses when the keeper squeezes his erection. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he comes back to Rino’s lips and pulls him into a long passionate kiss, his tongue forcing its entrance into the midfielder's cavity. He leaves him breathless and abandons the bed just long enough to retrieve the bottle of lube they hastily stole from Pippo - that really walks around with a bottle with him apparently - and coats his fingers. 

He prepares him nice and slow, one finger after the other, kissing every curse coming out of Rino’s mouth. Gigi takes himself into his own hand before rolling the condom down his shaft.

He positions himself when Rino stops him suddenly.

“What is it ? Are you okay ? Do you want me to stop ?” Gigi asks, worried he has done something wrong.

Rino pushes himself up to brush his lips with Gigi’s.

“We’re world cup winners.”

Gigi could have slapped him on the spot, but he grins nonetheless and enters his lover in one swift move.

“We’re world cup winners.” He grins back as Rino cannot form a coherent response. 

Their medals, shining with the low lights of the room, are there, clinking against one another, meddling, to remind them of that fact while they’re only short breaths, gasps and groans. That’s the only thing they can hear from that metallic sound, like the same melody being played over and over again. No one will ever be able to take that from them. They won the fucking World Cup and they are heroes. Later, when they will lay embraced and all spent, they will repeat it and they will giggle. They will take their time to join the party back : the moment is theirs and theirs only. 

They’re on top of the world and they sure as hell intend on staying there for a while.

 

(Give it a week and Gigi's tower is reduced to dust.)


	7. #7 A Night out with friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look ! November challenge actually finished in November, youhou \o/ !!!

“Look at them, disgusting.” Andrea joked as he took a bite from his grissino, sharing a knowing glance with Pippo.

One day, Gigi would have to ask him about what was really going on between them, they were far too suspicious, whether they knew it or not. But for now, he knew better than to push the matter – Andrea never liked it – he would come to him if he needed or wanted to. He simply had to be ready to be on the listening end if the moment came, just as he always tried to be with his teammates and friends. 

Gigi turned his attention to the main protagonists of the day : Sandro and Gabriela. 

It was nice, attending a wedding after the hellish year he had had. _Calciopoli_ had come and slammed the euphoria of their world cup win. Suddenly, Germany had seemed like a very remote parenthesis, almost like a feverish dream. 

There had been no wondering about it, though. There had been only one rational choice to make. For the club, for the fans, for the kids : he could make a difference and be a man, one of a club, he could set an example with the others. As Alessandro had wonderfully put it, there was no thinking twice about it because it was a matter of the heart. 

And that’s what it was. The media had asked him, even some of his loved ones, had told him he could have gone and played anywhere in Europe. Some talked about Barcelona, others were certain Wenger would have been happy to reiterate his offer – and then, there had been unfounded crazy rumors. Gigi knew clubs had asked about him, he was no ignorant of how things were and worked during the transfer window. But he had resolved to stay long before any offers were brought to the table. Turin was his home, Juventus was flowing down his veins, now. 

Rino had understood right away, no questions asked. He knew Gigi could have left anywhere. He also knew Gigi was a man of honour – of trust – and that, just like the red and black colours striped his heart, black and white striped Gigi’s. They would always do anything for their club. 

“Shut up. You were still drinking baby bottles while Gigi and I had to endure their longing glances and his never ending physiotherapy sessions with her.” Pippo countered, grabbing the gressino from his hand and taking a bite himself, unbothered by Andrea’s protests and insults.

Gigi chuckled. “We couldn’t hear the end of it, and in France no less. He was a smitten fool from the very beginning.”

Said smitten fool was currently in the centre of the room, trying to make his speech be heard in the hubbub of the room, in which Gigi and his friends took part in good-heartedly. Hands clapping on the tables, cutlery clicking against glasses : suddenly, they were all dumb teenage boys again.

They quieted down eventually, earning a few deserved remarks from the groom of the day and then, music began to fill the room for the opening dance. 

The lights were low and one romantic song guided Sandro and his wife’s steps. Andrea was prompt to comment on his best friend’s shaky steps even though he had tried to rehearse every chance he got, even in Milanello. Rino was the first to laugh, soon followed by the other three at the table. 

Hearing Rino’s laugh, it made Gigi’s heart flutter a little harder than usual – he would have to blame Sandro when he comes back from his honeymoon – and it only made him smile a little wider. 

Soon, other couples joined the dance floor and glided slowly around the newly-wed couple. Gigi looked at Rino and observed his face, slightly going from left to right following the soft rhythm of the song. He almost asked him to dance but thought better of it. They were with friends, yes, but they still had not told anyone about their relationship – Andrea had probably figured something out, though -, preferring to keep things at their own pace, a quiet peace in the whirlwind that was their careers. 

He brought his chair closer to him, realising just now Andrea and Pippo had mysteriously disappeared without a word. 

“Probably making the best of the deserted bathrooms for now.” Rino said when he noticed Gigi’s gaze fixed on the two empty chairs behind them. 

He hid his laughter against his shoulder, Rino instinctively leaning closer to Gigi. 

Looking back at the crowd of dancers, the keeper spotted Sandro and Gabriela and did not fail to feel the love radiating from their every fibre. Glancing back at Rino, he thought back of eleven years ago, of a that short boy, barely a man, whom he had never been able to forget afterwards.

They were so different and yet, they had grown so close within the years, it was almost scary in a way. He had always been the quiet type, the one giving attention to his friends rather than himself; Rino had always attracted eyes on him, he was loud and scary most of the times. Gigi would not trade his short ball of contained rage, hiding his softest side from undeserving gazes, for the world.

He was so engrossed in his quiet reminiscing he almost jumped when Rino gripped his wrist. 

“Gigi I...” He began, without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the couples on the dancefloor. “I’m no good with words you know that. But I… You hear the song ?”

Gigi paid careful attention to the lyrics : a soft and light melody to accompany words of love in a celebration of whoever the singer was singing to. 

“That’s how I feel. For you, I mean. I guess, I’m just trying to say that this whole day made me realise stuff and… Fuck, I really can’t get it right.” 

Gigi’s heart skipped a beat but he did not care. He simply smiled, fondness filling his features. 

“I know. I love you too, Rino.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the radiant smile that suddenly appeared on his face. And people had the nerve to say he thought of nothing but murder all day. He extended his hand on his thigh, palm facing the ceiling.

“I know.” Rino replied with feigned cockiness and intertwined his fingers with Gigi’s and squeezed.

Gigi used his free hand to bring his lover’s face towards him and he kissed the top of his head, making a mental note to kiss him on his lips twice as much when they’d be alone. 

In the middle of a room filled with dancers and a love song, they knew they would be fine. They knew they would have each other and they would only need to hold each other to face whatever they would go through together.

_(That night, they repeated it like a mantra, like the bind linking their bodies, like the seal locking their lips together. They repeated it like a lullaby, tightening their embrace, putting them back to sleep and dream.)_

For better or for worse.


	8. Playlist and Notes

Hi everyone who was kind enough to read that fic and even kinder to leave comments ! They literally made my day and I re-read some of them a few times over this past week. You are the best (special shoutout to LeapAngstily) !!

Instead of making a tumblr post you might not see, though I suspect there were not many of you, I thought of posting this here, that could be fun. So that'll basically be a mini playlist that I listened to a lot while writing this fic. Most of the songs are in italians but I'll provide a translation of the choosen lyrics (please note my italian is not as good as english so please excuse shaky translations, I aim to give the general idea here). So do what you will of this, enjoy and please let me know if you loved any song in particular ? I love talking about songs and seeing people liking songs I like too :D ! Anyway, here we go !

 

[Eternamente Ora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lIslrAYavE) by Francesco Gabbani

_C'è un posto che tengo nascosto per te_  
_**(There's a place I keep hidden for you)**_  
_Un posto che sta qui da sempre_  
_**(A place that's been here since forever)**_

Chapter 4

[Iris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNO6yd66PpA) by The Goo Goo Dolls

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

Chapter 5

[Completamente](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkfJ7-GS9yk) by Thegiornalisti

_Ed evitare di squagliarmi sotto il sole_  
_**(And to avoid melting under the sun)**_  
_Ed evitare di guardarti come un pazzo_  
_**(And to avoid looking at you like a madman)**_  
_Come un pazzo che ti vuole_  
_**(Like a madman who wants you)**_  
_Completamente_  
_**(Completely)**_

Chapter 6

[Andante, Andante](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnQRC-xUgVQ) by Lily James (Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again) (That for the smut, I spent 4h straight listening to that song)

_Make your fingers soft and light  
Let your body be the velvet of the night_

Chapter 7

[Amore Senza Fine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltRha4e7K2I) by Pino Daniele (actually the song I was trying to describe)

_Perché non so che dire quando mi guardi così_  
_**(Because I don't know what to say when look at me like that)**_  
_non riesco mai a finire un discorso senza errori_  
_**(I can never finish a speech without making mistakes)**_  
_perché mi fai impazzire quando mi guardi così_  
_**(Because you make me crazy when you look at me like that)**_  
_mi sembra di capire che voglio solo te in questo mondo_  
_**(I think I understand that I only want you in that world)**_

[L'Emozione Non Ha Voce](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3tGD3VCM4g) by Adriano Celentano (another inspiration)

_Io non so parlar d'amore_  
_**(I don't know how to talk about love)**_  
_L'emozione non ha voce_  
_**(It doesn't have a voice)**_

BONUS 

[Questa Nostra Stupida Canzone d'Amore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhZYxs1ppfg) by Thegiornalisti (Inspired the title)

_E se per caso mi dovessi svegliare_  
_**(And if I wake up by chance)**_  
_Colpito da un proiettile al cuore_  
_**(Hit by a bullet in my heart)**_  
_Inseguito da strane cose_  
_**(Pursued by strange things)**_  
_Mi basterebbe abbracciarti_  
_**(It'd be enough for me to hug you)**_  
_Sotto le coperte o sul divano_  
_**(Under the blankets or on the sofa)**_  
_Toccarti la mano e sentirti il respiro_  
_**(Take your hand or feel your breath)**_  
_Per restare bene e tornare a dormire_  
_**(To feel better and go back to sleep)**_  
_E ritornare a sognare_  
_**(And go back to dream)**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks again for all of you who followed this story and left me kuddos and/or comments ! I love you all :D !!!


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